


My Contagious Valentine

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day/ Harry has big dinner date plans with Bob, but comes home percolating a cold.





	My Contagious Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Corporeal Bob - who did not die at the end of What About Bob

Entering the pharmacy, Bob was hit by a visual sea of red hearts similar to those he’d been inundated with in the supermarket, as well as at least a dozen other reminders that today, February 14th, was Valentine’s Day.  It was, he knew, a day that one was supposed to remember one’s loved ones, ‘sweethearts’ in particular. 

He puzzled at the need for such an artificial celebration.  Indeed, the whole concept of the variety of annual ‘special occasions’ was new and a bit strange to Bob.  He’d concluded that they more or less took the place, in the public psyche of this very secular world, of the never-ending procession of saint’s days and similar observances that marked the passage of time in his first lifetime, when daily life was centered around the Church with a capital ‘C’.

It wasn’t that he disliked the occasions themselves, he mused, waiting in line to purchase aspirin, medicinal alcohol and those self-sticking bandages Harry called Band-Aids.  But to him they were private remembrances, and he very much doubted that someone else’s words on a greeting card, a random suggestion as to how one might celebrate or what an appropriate gift might be, would be satisfactory in expressing his feelings.  A remembrance should come from the heart, and each heart was different. 

He knew that Harry had made plans for the two of them tonight, something traditional to the holiday, and of course it pleased him that Harry had gone to the trouble to do so.  Perhaps he was simply out of sorts because he lacked Harry’s easy warmth, and the thoughtfulness that was second nature to him.   Bob felt, too, but he was rarely able to express himself easily to anyone, even Harry.  It was all very well to understand that this was due to a lifetime of having to keep his own counsel, trusting no one, but it sometimes made things more difficult in his present life. 

He arrived back at the apartment mindful of Harry’s instructions that he’d be home by about 5 p.m., and that Bob should be ready to go out by 6.  When he’d left shortly before noon, his eyes had positively shown with suppressed excitement, not to say devilishness.  It was Harry at his most boyish and appealing.  Bob had a hard time naysaying Harry most of the time, but when he was in that sort of mood it was impossible.

He found himself wishing that he’d chosen a card or some other sentiment to give Harry, or that he’d been able to think of a suitable gift...but he hadn’t.  He loved Harry deeply, but no more today than other days. He wondered if Harry could appreciate that, however.  Bob hoped he wouldn’t be hurt by lack of the customary tokens.  Still, much later, when they had returned from whatever Harry had planned and went up to bed, Harry would understand how much he was loved, for that was the one place Bob could reveal his feelings without reservation.

He showered early to leave the bathroom free for Harry when he arrived, following this with judicious application of the sandalwood-scented cologne that Harry found so appealing.  Well...appealing might be a bit of an understatement, since Harry’s usual response was to want sex almost as soon as he detected the scent.  Bob hummed to himself and sat on the couch to watch a little TV.  Valentine’s Day had suddenly become a lot more attractive.

He’d nodded off, but hearing the shop door open, he sat up and glanced at his watch.  It was 4:12; Harry was home early.  Perhaps a little...hors d’oevre...before they went out?  He grinned at the thought.  He looked up as Harry came in – and instantly knew something wasn’t right.

Harry looked pretty rough; dark circles bloomed below his brown eyes, which were dull and red-rimmed; his face was flushed.

“Hello, love,” Bob greeted him.

“Hey.”  Harry smiled, and leaned down to kiss him.  His voice sounded strange – husky, lower than usual.  
He plopped down beside Bob with a sigh.

“Guess I’m coming down with a cold.  Started a couple of hours ago.  But I’ll be okay – and we’re still on for dinner, right?  Don’t want to disappoint my Valentine.”  His smile was almost bashful.  “I’ve never had such a special reason to celebrate before.”

“Harry, if you’re not feeling well, we don’t have to go out.”

“Yes we do!  It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m taking you out to dinner, dammit!”  Harry immediately protested, as Bob expected him to.  “It’s just a stupid cold, no biggie,” he blustered.  “Gimme a couple of minutes and I’ll jump in the shower.”

“All right.  Why don’t you rest here with me for a while,” Bob invited, moving to one end of the couch and indicating that Harry should sit or lie beside him, “and if you feel up to it, of course we’ll go.”

“Damn right,” Harry muttered.

Within ten minutes his head was resting on Bob’s shoulder, eyes closed.  His breathing became loud, accompanied by noisy inhalations indicating he was having trouble breathing through his nose.  Within another few minutes he began to shiver slightly.  As he began to breathe through his mouth, increased clearing of his throat and slight coughs could be heard.

When Bob slipped an arm around Harry, he was unpleasantly surprised at how warm his body felt despite his shivering.  The signs did not bode well for a carefree, romantic evening, but he’d have to be careful how he handled this...and Harry.

“Gotta get in th’ shower,” Harry mumbled a few minutes later.  He sat up slowly, sniffing and rubbing his eyes.  It was a minute or two before he actually stood up – and immediately sat back down, hard.

“Are you all right?” Bob asked, the answer obvious.

“Little dizzy.  Got up too quick I guess.  And my head’s stuffy.”  Harry foolishly decided to shake said head for emphasis, but stopped quickly, wincing.  “Ow.  Headache.  Crappy sinuses,” he muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Why don’t we stay home?” Bob asked.

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day, and I want to take you out for a romantic dinner.  We stay home all the time,” Harry groused.

“I appreciate the thought Harry, honestly I do, but we can go out another night, when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m OKAY!”  This was followed by a bout of coughing.  When Harry wanted something, he could be very stubborn and impractical; quite childish in fact.

Bob put a hand out and stroked his cheek, which felt hot.

“Harry,” he began gently, “you’re ill.  I won’t be disappointed if we don’t go out tonight.  I’d rather stay home and take care of you.”

“But it’s Valentine’s Day!  And you don’t need to take care of me, it’s just a cold!” 

“Will you love me less tomorrow, or next week, when it isn’t Valentine’s Day?  Will you not want to take me to dinner then?”

“Course not.”

“If I don’t ‘need’ to look after you, I _want_ to.  Harry, stop fighting me on this, you’ve barely got the strength to stand.  Don’t waste your energy trying to convince me you’re fine, because that’s very obviously not the case.  We’re not going out tonight, and that’s final.”  The words were firm, but the voice was low and tender.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I truly don’t mind not going out tonight.”

Harry looked at him through bleary eyes.

“Thanks, Bob.  I feel crappy,” he admitted softly.

“I know.  You need to get out of those clothes and relax.  Come upstairs,” Bob coaxed.  He stood and put a hand under Harry’s elbow, shepherding him up the stairs.

Harry sat down on the bed in a fog.  He watched Bob take a pair of clean pajamas out of the dresser and bring them over.  He didn’t want to move.  He didn’t want to have to _do_ anything. Bob unbuttoned his Henley and told him to raise his arms.  It took him way back to when he was a little kid, and he remembered his dad, or maybe even his mom, doing the same thing.  He wanted to lean into the solidness and warmth that was Bob and not move.  How could he forget, in between times, how rotten it felt to be sick?

As Bob buttoned him up, the crisp coolness of the soft cotton in the pajamas felt good, already soothing.  He stood up before Bob asked him to, eager to get his clothes off, curl up and not have to pretend he was fine any more.  Bob took his shoes off, and he stepped out of his jeans and his underwear.  Steadying himself with a hand on Bob’s shoulder, he stepped into the pajama bottoms, loose and comfortable, and realized that he felt a little better, even if the effect was only going to last a couple of minutes. 

“All right, into bed with you, young man,” Bob motioned, turning back the covers on Harry’s side of the bed. 

Harry looked at the very inviting bed, but realized that he’d pretty much be alone up here while Bob was downstairs, and that wasn’t so appealing.

“Don’t wanna be alone.  Wanna be with you.” 

Simply said, and of course Bob understood.  He wanted to be with Harry, too, although he did want him resting.

“If you come downstairs will you lie down and stay down, and not keep jumping up like a jack-in-the-box to see what I’m doing?  And stay under the blanket?”

“If you stay with me.”

“I will, once I’ve gotten you something to eat and drink.”

“ ‘kay.” 

Sometimes, interacting with Harry was like dealing with a ten year old.  It wasn’t usually one of his more endearing qualities, but there were times it could be.

The couch was old and not that comfortable any more, especially for two; several months ago they’d bought a well-padded double sized leather chaise so they could lie beside each other and watch TV in comfort.  Bob wrapped Harry up in a blanket, brought him a box of Kleenex, and turned on the TV.

“Stay put,” he warned Harry.

“I don’t want anything to eat,” Harry fussed.

“I know.” 

That was Bob’s last word on the subject.  Harry knew it was useless to protest.  He could only hope Bob would be reasonable.  His face half-hidden in the blanket because light and noise were beginning to bother him, Harry let himself drift between the television and the sounds of Bob in the kitchen.  Bob taking care of him.  Not upset because they weren’t going out.  Worried about him.  Nice.

“Harry.” 

Bob’s voice was low, caressing and soft as velvet.  He held out a mug of soup and put another mug of honey-laden tea in the holder at the side of the lounger. 

“You’ll finish these?”

“ ‘kay,” Harry mumbled with a sigh.  Surprisingly, he found the soup tasted good, and the tea felt good to his throat.  Bob brought him some aspirin, and a couple of cold tablets he’d found in the bathroom.  He heard more noises in the kitchen and realized that Bob was fixing himself something to eat.   Not, Harry realized with a sigh, steak and lobster and a bottle of wine, in the back corner of a very romantic restaurant.  Damn.

After what seemed like forever, Bob came back.  He took the empty soup and tea mugs back to the kitchen, and Harry groaned in frustration.  Finally, he returned to stay.  Kicking off his shoes, he lay down beside Harry and spread another blanket over the two of them.

Harry immediately went into burrow mode, snuggling half-against and half-on Bob, his face pressed against Bob’s chest, arms encircling his waist, as if Bob was a giant pillow.  This was as much, or more, medicine than anything else he might take.

Bob snugged Harry against him, stroking his sweat-damp hair and shoulder, pressing his lips to the too-hot forehead.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Better,” Harry responded, “ ‘cause you’re here now.”

“Shhhhhh,” Bob soothed, rubbing slow circles at Harry’s temple.

“Mmmmhm.”

As the minutes passed he could feel Harry relaxing, his body becoming heavier.  Chills still caused him to shiver occasionally beneath the blankets, alternating between bouts of wanting to throw all the covers off, which Bob did his best to prevent.  It gave him a fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that Harry sought him out so determinedly when he needed comfort.  It reminded him that what they had was not solely about lust but was more; he badly needed that ‘more’.

_This, Harry love, is as much a treat for me as any fine meal or romantic evening.  The fact that you are in my life, that I have you to care for and look after, is gift enough for me.  I don’t know if you understand how empty and meaningless my life would be without you.  Being needed for who I am, more than what I am, is a ‘Valentine’ of sorts too._

Aside from the fact that it sucked to be sick and he pretty much felt like crap, this was nice, Harry thought.  Well, more than nice.  Sex, they got up to pretty much every day; cuddling with no sex in the offing, not so much.  If truth be told, Harry enjoyed the cuddling almost as much as the sex, and sometimes more.  It made what they had feel more real to him, somehow.

Instead of being upset or selfishly pissed off, Bob was worried about him.  His mind wasn’t on the two of them going upstairs and shagging their brains out, it was on making Harry feel better.  Bob cared.  _He_ mattered to Bob.  He’d never had that before, with anyone.  It made a warm place inside him.

Harry buried his face in Bob’s sweater.  Sweaters, he decided, had to have been created to cuddle in.  His nose wasn’t working right of course, but he imagined he could still smell that sexy cologne mixed with soap and just...Bobsmell.  His fingers ruffled the hair at the nape of Bob’s neck before taking hold again, making sure Bob was firmly within his grasp.  Being held like this was the best present he could have.

“Love you, Bob.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry.”

 


End file.
